He Who Lives
by Don't Abandon Hope
Summary: A post-Brisingr/pre-Inheritance drabble: it is the eve of their assault on Belatona and Eragon Shadeslayer cannot sleep
1. Chapter 1

_He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword._

The unspoken motto of the Riders; after all, they did seem to spend most of their time with a sword in their hand … the studying, the teaching, the healing and what not was always second to the fact that they were keepers of the peace. Funnily enough, the peace keeping involved an awful lot of blood being spilt and lives being lost as they went off to fight. It was a rather morbid and sobering thought, and served to tether the Riders to reality and encouraged their inborn sense of self-preservation. But then you always get the odd one ignoring reason, who temps Fate's hand that one time too many.

Eragon let out a sigh and sat up, swinging his leg over the side of the narrow cot and let his head fall into his hands. No matter how many times he convinced himself that this war wouldn't last forever, Eragon still had trouble thinking past it … a future beyond the blade seemed implausible. There was, he reflected dully, a certainty that he'd die due to a sword in the gut at some point – no Rider had ever died naturally, after all – and sometimes he half wondered why he was going to the trouble to put off the event.

Groaning, he lurched to his feet and ducked out of his tent, shivering as the night air chilled his bare torso. Too preoccupied to acknowledge his guards, Eragon began to restlessly pace back and forth in front of his tent as he fought with the dark thoughts settling into his mind. Saphira opened one eye lazily and watched him for a full minute before closing it again and settling back down to sleep. The ground was slightly damp beneath his bare feet as he paced. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration and continued his agitated march.

Blödhgarm watched him intently while the others remained watchful for danger. The elf's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the Rider, and at least twice he opened his mouth to speak before deciding better of it and closing it again. Eventually the elf motioned to one of the elves – a woman with hair like starlight – and murmured something to her in a voice too low for Eragon to hear. She nodded and without a word, disappeared into the vast camp of the Varden.

_He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword._

Both Oromis and Brom had mentioned the saying in passing on several occasions – and Eragon had immediately known better than to ask its meaning. It hadn't taken long, however, for him to grasp what the phrase meant and he wasn't all that encouraged by the thought when he'd first figured it out as he and Murtagh were skirting round Urǔ'baen on their way to Gil'ead. But the meaning of the phrase _had_ made him question and re-evaluate everything he had thought to be true and unquestioningly so. It had made him weary of strangers and taught him to be mindful of what people might not be saying.

"Eragon?" he blinked and turned on his heel to find Arya standing several paces behind him. She wore a plain, if slightly over-sized, shirt and leggings and like him, her feet were bare. She was unarmed and her hair was pulled back into a somewhat untidy knot at the back of her head.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Blödhgarm sent for me," she replied softly as Eragon turned to the elf and raised an eyebrow.

"You seem on edge, Shadeslayer," he said without a trace of regret over what he'd done. "And since I knew you were unlike to unburden yourself on one of us, I sent for one you would."

"You presume too much, Blödhgarm-vodhr." Eragon told him tightly, "what makes you think there is anything bothering me?"

"Isn't there?" the elf quipped. "If there is not, then forgive me Rider … but I do not believe that you are merely out here passing the time."

Shaking his head, Eragon stalked off into the sea of tents in need of a respite from the ever present presence of the elves sent by Islanzadí to guard him and Saphira. He found himself at the outer defences of the camp and climbed up to stand atop the dwarven breastwork and look out at the city of Belatona resting on the shores of Leona Lake. Running a hand over his face, and noticing that he was due shave, Eragon sighed and sat down with one leg dangling over the fortifications and an arm slung over his other knee.

"Surely you know better than to sit on the outer defences unarmed and unprotected?" Eragon wasn't surprised she was there. "Luckily for you, however, your intelligent friend thought to bring your sword with her."

"While she left hers in her own tent," he glanced over his shoulder to find Arya shaking her head with a small smile upon her lips at being caught out by him so quickly. She handed over Brisingr and joined him at the low wall, leaning against it as she stared out across the empty land in front of the city.

"I told them to stay," Arya said in answer to Eragon's brief search of the nearby makeshift walkways and alleys with his gaze.

"Why?"

"Because we both know Blödhgarm's right and I don't want the pair of you at blows with each other when Nasuada wants you to lead the assault on the city." Arya explained, still looking out over the fortifications. The men on watch were shooting sidelong glances at the pair of them, but there was no way of them understanding their conversation – unless they were secretly fluent in the ancient language. Both Eragon and Arya pointedly ignored their audience.

"He still overstepped the mark." Eragon muttered stubbornly, tired of his guard treating him like he was a child they were minding. He said as much to Arya, who's only response was to give him an amused smile while he ranted on.

"Well when you behave like you are, can you blame them?" she asked. Eragon turned back to watching Belatona and ignored her. "Eragon … I'm only teasing you," she said gently, touching his shoulder with soft fingers. He shivered. "Sorry … cold hands … look, you can't change what they're here to do so I suggest you make your peace with them."

Eragon said nothing as Arya continued. "And they're probably wondering if you're planning on abandoning them like you did in Feinster."

"I don't know what they expect of me," he muttered eventually. "If it's to stand back while they do all the fighting then –"

"They expect you to respect them." Eragon frowned and turned to Arya to find she was already staring at him intently. "Every one of those elves has sworn to my mother – and to me – to protect you at all costs. They will die for you Eragon, and die knowing that they have done all they could to serve you and Saphira. Knowing that you respected them for what they did – or tried to do – is possibly the only comfort they'll have in death. Why die for a queen when you can die for a Dragon Rider?"

It was an odd thought Eragon realised, knowing that all twelve of those elves the queen had sent to protect him and Saphira would die at a moment's notice to prevent either himself or Saphira from being killed. Eragon also knew that Islanzadí would find more to replace them if and when they did die. In hindsight he realised that he had taken them for granted and strove to thwart them in their tasks at every opportunity. He suddenly feel ashamed of himself. _Oromis would be disappointed_, he mused, _as would Brom._

"What do you want me to do?" he asked her. "I'm not used to this – to being guarded and protected all the time … I'm sorry."

"It's not me you should be apologising to," she pointed out and he nodded, once again returning his gaze to Belatona.

"Arya," he said suddenly, "how come you're mother hasn't sent anyone here to protect you? You can't honestly tell me that she let you return to the Varden without some kind of guard."

"And what good did my guard do when Durza ambushed me?" she replied. "Yes my mother wanted to send me back with a guard, but I left before she could organise it … that and she knew I was probably safer alone."

"How so?"

Arya looked down at the wall she was leaning against and then turned her back on the city, folding her arms across her chest before glancing up at the sky. "Because if I had a guard, then one would immediately assume that I must be someone of importance to my queen. Which would make it more likely of word to reach the Empire and then …"

"Galbatorix would do everything he could to have you killed." Eragon finished, "because having a guard would mean you were important enough to be in need of one."

"Indeed," she continued her study of the stars while Eragon's attention was distracted by a lone fox darting across the no-man's-land between the Varden's camp and the city.

"Yet you had Glenwing and Fäolin guarding you when you were ambushed by Durza." He wondered if it was a good idea bring up Fäolin again, but Arya showed no sign of breaking down as she had before.

"In truth they were there to guard Saphira's egg. They both swore to give their lives to keep the egg out of the hands of the Empire, rather than to ensure that nothing befell me." She sighed, her gaze still upon the heavens.

"How did you manage with your guards? I don't believe for a second that you welcomed their presence." Eragon asked as she tore her gaze from the sky.

"I befriended them," Arya told him, before hesitating, "Fäolin and I were already …"

"Friends," Eragon supplied when words failed her.

She nodded, "Well by that point … more than … _just_ friends …" again she trailed off uncertainly, staring ahead of her and avoiding his gaze. Eragon said nothing; he'd already suspected as much. When she realised Eragon was going to let her admission pass, she continued. "And then I befriended Glenwing mainly so he wouldn't tell my mother about Fäolin and me."

"She didn't know?"

"Oh no she knew," Arya turned to face him, "she just didn't tell me she knew because she was still refusing to admit she had a daughter … despite all Oromis's petitions."

"How did she know?" Eragon asked, intrigued.

Arya shrugged, "because she's my mother? I don't know …"

Eragon shifted to a slightly more comfortable position, "At least she approved of him."

Arya frowned, "What gave you that idea?"

He floundered, "You told me she approved of him accompanying you outside Ellesméra."

"As a guard, yes. Other than that? No." Arya sighed heavily and wriggled her toes in the trampled grass beneath her feet as one of the men on watch duty that night paced past them. "He was everything I knew she'd hate," she explained. "Even Oromis disapproved. I needed some way of getting back at her for disowning me," she shook her head slightly and continued in a whisper. "It wasn't ever supposed to _mean_ anything."

"Only it did," Eragon finished gently.

She swallowed and nodded; her eyes were brighter than usual in the starlight and she blinked furiously before taking a deep steadying breath. Arya flickered her gaze to Eragon and gave him a somewhat weak smile. "Don't worry," she told him softly, "I'm not about to start crying on you again."

Eragon grinned back, despite the situation. "I could always attempt making another flower?" he suggested. "Although I doubt there are any spirits about to turn it into living gold this time."

Arya laughed slightly, "No, there probably aren't," she agreed, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her shirt.

"So do you think I should try that – befriending my guard?" Eragon asked after a moment.

She blinked, "You know it won't stop them from dying for you?"

"But they would die in the knowledge that it was out of friendship and that I'd of done the same for them."

"That would just defeat the whole point of having guards …"

"But it'd be a step towards them knowing I respect them and whatnot."

Arya inclined her head, "There is that I suppose … if you die for someone it should be because you chose to not because you had to; otherwise why maintain the illusion of freedom and choice." She shook her head and squinted once more up at the sky. "No matter how dark it gets, there is always some light, somewhere."

Eragon glanced up at the star strewn sky and smiled. "And even on the blackest of nights, it just means the stars will burn all the brighter … rather like hope in a way." He gazed up at the same sky that he'd looked up at in Carvahall, remembering the evenings he'd spent with his cousin watching the night sky. "When Roran and I were boys – before my aunt died, so we were still living in the village at that point – and we'd been good enough, we used to sit on the front porch watch the stars come out at night."

He was aware of Arya watching him intently. "Sometimes Brom would join us and he'd tell us all their names – and the stories that went with them … and I'd fall asleep with my head on Roran's shoulder – we used to share a blanket and sit at the adults' feet – only to wake up next morning in my own bed with no memory of getting there."

Arya was looking at him with a tender expression upon her face when he turned his gaze away from the heavens. He frowned at her quizzically and she smiled and shook her head, "It seems strange, to think of you as a child and blissfully ignorant of the world and its perils."

Eragon shrugged, "Every child is born in innocence."

"True," she agreed, before taking another glance up at the star strewn sky. "My mother once told me that my father believed all the great folk of the past are up there; looking down on us … and that they'll always be there to guide us when we need it." Eragon allowed an amused smile to tug at his lips. "Preposterous I know … but still …"

"Surely Oromis must've taught you what stars really are?"

A small smile lit her face as she remembered the lessons she must've had with his master, "I don't think he wanted to shatter my childhood dreams – but his sense of right and wrong must've driven him to distraction until he taught me the truth." They shared a laugh at the thought of Oromis tearing his hair out over the dilemma, earning even more sidelong looks from the Varden's soldiers on duty.

"What was he like?" Arya looked at him, confusion flitting across her face, "Your father," Eragon added by way of explanation. "What was he like?"

Arya looked at the ground for a long moment, and he almost wondered if she was going to respond; he had not realised that her father was one of the countless topics that were off-limits for discussion. "I don't know," she said eventually, looking up at him, "he died before I was born." She spoke softly, as if she were unsure how she should be reacting to that fact.

"I'm sorry," Eragon told her just as softly.

"Why? It's not your fault is it?" She responded quickly, then closed her eyes and sighed, "Forgive me – I did not mean to be so rude to you."

Eragon looked out at Belatona again, "I always got a bit touchy whenever someone mentioned my father – or lack of father," he said, almost to himself, "Probably because there was nothing that I could do to change the situation."

When he turned back to her, he found a mute thank you in her eyes for understanding why she had reacted the way she had. "He never knew," she turned around and resumed her study of the landscape between the camp and the city. Her voice was still soft and uncertain. "My mother didn't tell him she was pregnant."

"Why not?" Eragon asked carefully.

She glanced at him briefly, as if to reassure herself that it was still him and not someone else. "She said because she didn't want to distract him; he was preparing for war, Eragon. Preparing to meet Galbatorix's forces in battle upon the plains of Ilirea and my mother didn't know how to tell him that she was with child."

Eragon reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, she smiled slightly as her hands clenched and unclenched where she rested them upon the low wall. "She wanted to tell him," Eragon guessed, "but knew that it wouldn't make him stay behind with her when he had to go and make his stand against what Galbatorix had done."

She nodded, "I know …" her eyes drifted shut and he cast a glance at their audience, finding them watching with an unwholesome interest. He slid down from the wall, wincing as the blood rushed into his legs, and grabbed the structure for support. "What's wrong?" Arya asked, opening her eyes as he winced again.

"Trapped a nerve – been sitting on that bloody wall too long … well at I'm glad you find my discomfort amusing, Dröttningu." Eragon growled and shook his head, although secretly pleased that Arya was smiling. "Come on," he told her, "I need to walk around a bit – and there's only so much to look at from the outer defences."

With Brisingr in one hand, Eragon led the way into the sea of tents once more, hobbling every other step as his leg and foot took time to wake up. Arya strode alongside him as they meandered through the make-shift paths; from the east they detected the paling of dawn, and also the ominous shape of what looked like rain. "If that rain is more than a late summer shower then we're in trouble," Arya predicted, "we can't afford to tarry here if Nasuada wants to winter in Dras-Leona."

Eragon nodded in agreement as the first few drops fell to the ground. A moment later they were hit by an icy sheet as a gust of wind swept through the camp. Arya grabbed his arm and pulled him through the camp and into a nearby food-tent where many of the Varden came for their meals. Already the cooks were up and stoking the fires ready for breakfast. Eragon shivered and edged towards a brazier and dragged it over to the table Arya had sat down at.

He settled onto the bench opposite her as the pounding of raindrops on the canvas reached an almighty crescendo. The cooks all paused in their work to exchange looks and gabble about whether they should tighten the support ropes. "This had better blow off by tonight," Eragon muttered darkly to Arya, "I don't fancy taking on an entire city in the rain, even if I do have twelve elves and Saphira helping me."

Arya rolled her eyes, "It's only rain, Eragon."

"You're not the one who has to clean all the rust off Saphira's armour!" He retorted.

She smiled, her eyes gleaming as the food tent slowly began to fill up with early risers and those who'd been delegated the job of night watch. "One of the many perks of being a Rider," she teased as one of the cooks strode towards them.

"Morning Shadeslayer … and uh – Shadeslayer."

"I suggest you tighten the support ropes, Harnel Farensson." Eragon said without looking up at the man, switching back into his native language with ease. "Before the whole tent collapses," he added glancing at the cook.

The tent chose that moment to flap wildly and Harnel yelled over to his fellow cooks before dashing outside to tighten the ropes. Arya leant across the table towards him, "Was there any need for that? Or were you just showing off?"

Eragon feigned an injured look, "Why would I do that? I was merely suggesting that he –"

Arya overrode him, "Eragon, you're Brom's son. He was possibly one of the biggest show offs there ever was … stands to reason that you'd inherit that unseemly trait too."

"Unseemly?" Eragon queried, "Really?"

"Yes."

He rolled his eyes and decided to let her have that one. "Although in fairness every man has the need to show off at times – it's actually an in-born part of us that …" Arya raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to continue. "That I will not go into detail about now."

"You're an idiot." She informed him, although her statement was skewed somewhat by the smile she was trying to hide and the fondness she'd spoken with.

He nodded, "Brom was of that opinion too."

Harnel Farensson and his fellow cooks ducked back into the tent, all looking thoroughly drenched to the skin. The walls of the canvas tent however, were taut and sturdy and unlikely of suddenly collapsing. While the others all saw to the line of hungry men impatient for their breakfast, Harnel carried two plates of cheese and bread and fruit over to where Eragon and Arya sat. "Thank you," Arya said before Eragon could open his mouth – probably so he wouldn't try to show off again. "I suggest you get back over there and restore order," she added when angry voices broke out as two of Orrin's cavalry men both demanded to be served first.

"Aye, I'd best at tha' hadn't I?" Harnel agreed, setting the plates down and hurrying over to the front of the line of hungry soldiers. The cook had just restored order when six of Eragon's guard strode into the tent and joined the back of the line. A hushed silence fell over the tent as those inside watched the elves; when it became clear that they weren't about to do anything interesting, the babble of conversation slowly resumed.

"What are they doing here?" Eragon asked.

Arya glanced over her shoulder and then looked back at Eragon, "They need to eat too," she pointed out. "They usually do so before you emerge from your tent in the morning." Eragon said nothing as he finished the last of his breakfast, aware that Arya was watching him and expecting him to apologise.

"What if," he began, "I asked them to fight alongside me tonight?"

"Come again?"

"Blödhgarm and the others … what if they were to fight alongside me rather than just protect me – and end up getting in my way." He looked across the table at her and waited.

"It'd be a start," she concluded, "although I'd not mention the getting in the way part to them. My people are quick to temper at times."

"As you've so often exhibited to us."

She glared at him as Blödhgarm and the other five elves sat down beside them since theirs was the only table with a large quantity of seats free. "I believe you have something to say, Eragon," Arya said without giving him a chance to prepare, "to Blödhgarm?"

It was his turn to glare at her. She held his gaze and it was only when Blödhgarm cleared his throat that either of them turned away. "Yes … Blödhgarm … I er, um … want to apologise for the way I acted earlier," he was aware that the other six elves present – including Arya – were watching the exchange intently. "I shouldn't have spoken the way I did and –"

"It's I who should apologise, Shur'tugal." The elf said, "As you rightly pointed out, I presumed too much."

Eragon flickered his gaze towards Arya for help. _You didn't say this would happen!_

_Just get to the point Eragon, or we'll be here all day._

"That's beside the point," Eragon said abruptly, "the point is … Saphira and I would like you and your brethren to fight alongside us tonight." The elf blinked, and Eragon supressed his smiled; he hadn't expected that offer. "With us all working together, we will be able to break into the city with far more ease than what would otherwise be."

Blödhgarm's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought the proposal over. "And this way the Varden will also see you as allies – if you're seen to be fighting alongside us. Which will make things a lot easier when we finally meet up with Islanzadí's army." Eragon could sense that he was winning them round, "Because the only way this is going to work is if we work together."

Eragon watched as Blödhgarm glanced round the tent, thinking his way through Eragon's plan; the other five elves were all watching him intently while Arya's attention was fixed upon Eragon. Finally the elf stirred, "It is an interesting scheme, Shadeslayer … very interesting."

"It'd work though, wouldn't it?" one of the female elves piped up; she dropped her gaze to her plate when Blödhgarm turned his eyes upon her.

"We must take breakfast back to the others," he said curtly, "and I will discuss this with Wyrden …" he got to his feet, and the five elves all hurried to duplicate him. Turning back to Eragon he said, with a hint of a smile, "You honour us, Shadeslayer, with your scheme. What you propose is far more than Queen Islanzadí first tasked of us … and yet …" his eye brightened, "to fight alongside a Dragon Rider is …" he shook his head and threaded his way to the back of the tent where the others were collecting a plate each to take back to the six elves that had remained behind.

Eragon glanced at Arya, "Now what?" he asked, slightly perplexed at the abruptness of Blödhgarm's exit.

"We wait," she said simply, "while they decide whether or not to fight alongside you tonight." He nodded and then jumped slightly when his cousin dropped into the seat Blödhgarm had just vacated.

"What do you want?" Eragon asked, once again switching back to his native tongue.

Roran grinned, "I'm having my breakfast, is there a problem with that?"

"Domestic bliss already run its course then?" Eragon teased, before turning to Arya and asking, "Are you going to eat that?" He pointed at the food she'd left on her plate. With an amused smile she shook her head and offered him her left overs. "What?" he asked in response to his cousin's look, "I'm hungry."

He rolled his eyes. "You always were," he accused. "Wasn't a very good poor farm boy – he never understood that being poor meant that you were going to be continually hungry." Roran said to Arya, "It's probably why he spent so much time in those damned mountains – trying to bag game so he could go to bed with a full stomach."

"Actually that was because I was more likely to bring something back," Eragon countered, "Unlike you."

"Yes, and what did you bring back last time? A rock?"

Eragon shrugged, "I thought it would be enough to buy us meat for the winter."

"Only we couldn't sell it."

"I wasn't to know that was I?"

Roran shook his head as he dug into his breakfast. Arya frowned, "Wait – you tried to _sell_ Saphira's egg for food?"

Both Eragon and his cousin looked up at her, before exchanging a look. "I didn't know what it was did I?" he protested. "Anyway no one would buy it and everything worked out – more or less – as it was supposed to."

"More or less," Arya agreed. "Now, are you going to tell me why Blödhgarm saw the need to send for me last night?"

Eragon blinked, aware that his cousin was watching him intently. He'd almost forgotten … almost. _He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword._ "Nothing," he shrugged. "It's not important."

Roran narrowed his eyes, "Liar," he accused. "Something's bothering you – and it was yesterday too."

Eragon groaned. "It's nothing," he insisted.

"Well it's clearly not, if you woke up in the middle of the night unable to get back to sleep." Arya pointed out.

He knew that neither of them was about to let the subject drop, so he gave in. He met Arya's gaze and then muttered the phrase in the ancient language.

"In case you'd forgotten, I don't know the ancient language." Roran pointed out.

Arya's face had paled somewhat as he'd uttered the phrase; he'd expected her to know the phrase and what it meant. He'd of been disappointed if she hadn't known it. She glanced at Roran before translating the words for him. "He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword."

"What does that mean?"

"It's the Rider's motto," Arya explained in a somewhat strained voice, as if she was involving herself in the conversation against her will.

Beside him, Eragon watched his cousin frowning, "But isn't the motto something to do with peace and whatnot?"

Arya inclined her head, "That's the official one," she told him.

"I don't understand," Roran confessed.

"It means exactly what it says," Eragon said, turning to face his cousin – the look on Arya's face was unnerving him slightly. "After all, have you ever heard of a Rider who didn't die in battle or in a duel or because of some skirmish?"

Roran swallowed and licked his lips, "Maybe you'll be the first?" he suggested.

Eragon rolled his eyes. "It's inevitable; I will die in battle when someone sticks their sword into my gut … it's going to happen so –"

"Don't." Arya's voice was sharp and they both turned to face her. "Don't even go there." She warned him sternly, her eyes staring straight into Eragon's. "Please … just don't."

Eragon held her gaze stubbornly for a moment before relenting. "Fine," he said holding up his hands in mock surrender, "Alright … I won't."

The corner of her mouth flickered in a weak smile as Eragon let it go. He turned back to cousin to see a sly grin upon his face and an unspoken insinuating comment hovering on his lips. "Shut up." Eragon said at once.

Roran's grin grew wider. "I haven't said anything."

"I mean it!"

His cousin looked positively gleeful as he got to his feet and picked up his plate, "Well I better be going anyway – Nasuada's issuing orders in a bit and I need to find out what she wants me to do later." Eragon watched his cousin hand back the plate to a cook and then stride towards the tent entrance. As he passed, Roran once again made to speak his unspoken question but Eragon once again got there first.

"I told you to shut up!"

"I'm going!" Roran laughed, and with a cheery wave to Eragon and a nod of the head to Arya he left the tent.

Eragon shook his head as he turned back to Arya. "What was that about?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "He was reading more of the situation than there is," Arya frowned and he sighed, "Us; he's seeing more than there is to see."

"Ah …" she fell silent for a moment before glancing up at him. "You do realise he's not the only one though?"

Eragon cast a glance round the tent, well aware of the number of people who had hastily turned back to their breakfast and of the general topic of conversation floating around the tent. "I know," he said quietly.

Arya reached out and touched his hand, gaining his attention once more, "It's in the nature of people to gossip." She pointed out softly, "they're just rumours, Eragon," she added. "Galbatorix isn't going to act upon a rumour."

Eragon looked down at her hand resting on his and then back up at her, before leaning forwards and lowering his voice, just as she had done. "But what if he does?" Arya met his gaze before swiftly looking away, not answering the question. "I am well aware that they are only rumours," he continued, "but that does not mean that Galbatorix will ignore them, not if there's a shred of truth to them."

She glanced up at him again. "What truth? That we're friends?" she shook her head, "he won't do act upon a rumour." Arya insisted.

"You can't be sure of that," Eragon sighed and when he didn't continue Arya spoke again in voice soft as the sigh of a summer breeze.

"And if I'm wrong," she began, taking his hands in hers, "what then? Hypothetically speaking, what would you do?"

Eragon flickered his gaze back up to her and swallowed. _We'd take the world apart to free her_, Saphira answered.

"I would not rest until I'd gotten you out of there." He spoke to her hands, intertwined with his, rather than to her face.

"You and I both know that there is only one way you'd be able to do that," she said softly.

Eragon looked up at her, "I don't know that I can," he whispered helplessly. "I don't know that I can defeat him Arya."

_Yet you'd die trying if he held her captive,_ Saphira pointed out.

_I liked it better when you were asleep,_ Eragon retorted and Saphira, sensing his wanting to be alone, withdrew.

"I do," Arya murmured, "I know you can." A wave of gratitude washed over him at her words and he smiled.

"Seems like you're the only one who does."

Arya dropped her gaze and returned to their hypothetical discussion of what if. "It's what I'd hold on to," her gaze darted back up to him and then back down again. "Hypothetically speaking – if I'm wrong – knowing that you could do it would be all I have."

Eragon opened his mouth to speak, but was unsure as to what exactly he should say. Arya shook her head and then glanced up at him, "Galbatorix won't act upon a rumour; only if he were desperate would he contemplate it."

"Is that meant to reassure me or something?" Eragon asked dryly.

"You can't stop them from gossiping," Arya pointed out, "and the more you try to, the stronger the rumours will become. Just ignore them …" she cocked her head and smiled, "your cousin was only looking to wind you up."

Eragon grunted, "He's an idiot."

"Yet no doubt he sees it as a way to get you back for all the times you teased him about Katrina."

"Who says I teased him about it?" Eragon defended at once.

"I _know_ you Eragon," Arya smiled, "and I know you'd never pass up an opportunity to tease your cousin."

It was Eragon's turn to shake his head as he took another glance round the tent. "You do realised they're talking about us?" he asked turning back to Arya.

A coy smile stretched across he lips along with a mischievous gleam her eyes as she leant further over the table towards him. "Let them talk," she breathed before letting his hands go and sitting back on the bench. Eragon remained as he was, crossing his arms on the rough table in front of him.

_You got their hopes up there, Dröttningu._

_Good morning Saphira,_ Arya replied.

_And good morning to you too._ The dragon replied, _it's more than I got off Eragon – apparently he prefers it when I'm asleep._

Eragon rolled his eyes. _I'm sorry if I upset you – I was in the middle of a conversation._

_A hypothetical conversation …_ Saphira pointed out.

Arya glanced at him, "She was answering your questions without giving me a chance; and trying to make me give you her answers instead."

"Which you obviously didn't … why? Would I have preferred Saphira's?"

_Yes. _Eragon rolled his eyes again as Saphira proceeded to tell Arya what she'd do if – hypothetically speaking – Galbatorix chose to act upon the rumours. _Blödhgarm is on his way back to you._ Saphira told them after she'd finished. _I suggested he bring some clothes with him for you, since all you're wearing is your trousers._

Arya smirked slightly at Saphira's last comment and Eragon ignored her as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "Now you look as if you've just rolled out of bed and couldn't be bothered to get dressed." She told him.

Eragon was spared having to answer her by Blödhgarm and another elf, Eragon assumed to be Wyrden, joined them at their table. "Blödhgarm-vodhr, I take it you have reached a decision?" Eragon asked.

"We have," the elf said.

Eragon waited.

"Blödhgarm," Arya said somewhat exasperatedly, "this is no time to play the long game; it was a simple proposition requiring a simple answer! Now give."

Eragon hid his smile at Blödhgarm's obvious discomfort at being rebuked by his princess. Eragon also suspected that Arya didn't use her position much because she sounded ever so slightly unsure of herself when she'd uttered the command. "Arya Dröttningu," he murmured, touching his first two fingers to his lips, "forgive me." Turning to Eragon the elf said, "If you'll have us, Shur'tugal, we will fight with you."

He couldn't help the smile on his face, "I would be honoured, Blödhgarm-vodhr."

"No, Shadeslayer," the elf Wyrden said, "it is us who are honoured. Not many of our race will be able to say that a Rider asked them to fight alongside him … as a friend."

"With the thirteen of us – and Saphira – we will be able –" Eragon began before Arya interrupted him.

"Fourteen."

"Sorry?" Blödhgarm and Wyrden had also turned to look at her.

She glanced at the three of them, "What? Did you honestly expect me to stay behind with Nasuada, and endure Orrin's insults?"

Eragon laughed, "Only you could invite yourself along to fight with a Dragon Rider and not get incinerated by the dragon," Wyrden remarked. "Just as I'm sure you'd have been the only one to escape a scolding from Brom – had he lived – for loosing Saphira's egg."

_You didn't see how annoyed he was when Eragon asked how I'd gotten to him._ Eragon relayed Saphira's comment and got grins out of his companions while Arya let out a sigh. _He was probably intending to deposit us with the Varden before dragging you out of Gil'ead just so he could give you the scolding of a lifetime._

Arya shook her head, "Well he can rest easy because Oromis saw to that the moment I returned to Ellesméra."

"I think you were the only pupil of his he ever had to scold," Blödhgarm mused. With a jolt, Eragon realised that both these elves – and probably the others who were still at his tent, and not to mention the others he'd met in Ellesméra – had known Arya as a child.

"You did meet my father didn't you?" Eragon asked. "Do you really think that he never got a scolding off Oromis?"

"Did you ever warrant a scolding off him?" Wyrden asked and Eragon frowned.

_Countless times, yet he never actually gave you one._ When he repeated Saphira's words the elf nodded.

"Still certain that your father got one off him?"

Eragon shook his head and turned to Arya. "Which begs the question; what did you do?"

With a small smile she got to her feet, "Another time," she said. "I will be late if I tarry here any longer."

"Late for what?" Eragon asked suspiciously. "Or is that an excuse to avoid answering the question?"

She laughed lightly, before saying, "I'll meet you later this afternoon ... and Eragon?" he looked up at her, "it's just a phrase." Eragon watched her leave the tent before turning back to the two elves that remained.

Wyrden handed him a bundle of cloth and his boots. "Saphira said you were in need of clothing, Shadeslayer." Eragon thanked him and unrolled the bundle to find a pair of socks and his leather undervest. "All your shirts were in need of a wash," the elf said by way of explanation, "and I thought you'd want to put off wearing your armour for as long as possible."

"I've been meaning to get them cleaned …" Eragon admitted, slightly ashamed of himself, "but I never seemed to have the time."

"I've already seen to it, Rider," Blödhgarm told him.

"Thank you," Eragon said as he pulled on his socks and boots. In the brief moment before he pulled his vest over his head, he caught a look between the two elves that almost echoed Roran's from earlier. "What?" he demanded as he settled the vest into place.

They didn't insult his intelligence by denying that there was a what. "You and Arya Dröttningu …" Wyrden began carefully. "You are aware of what they're saying, aren't you?"

Eragon cast his gaze around the now much emptier food tent and nodded once. "They're just rumours," He told them, "nothing more … I tire of people insisting that they see more than there is between us."

At Wyrden's prompting, Blödhgarm continued the conversation. "But … what happens when the rumours become true?"

Eragon froze, aware that he was the centre of both Wyrden's and Blödhgarm's attention just then. He also knew that they were asking because they felt they had to; Arya was, after all, the queen's heir and daughter. He opened his mouth to reassure them that the rumours would stay rumours but the words wouldn't come out as the ancient language rendered him speechless.

"You can't even say that the rumours will remain rumours can you?" Blödhgarm continued in an uncharacteristically gently voice, "Because you're no longer sure that they won't come true." He was watching Eragon intently.

"In all honesty," Wyrden said in the same low tones, "neither are we."

Eragon turned his gaze back to the two elves watching him and frowned. "I'd die for her," he told them fiercely. "You _know_ that."

The two elves tactfully let the subject drop as they returned to planning out the attack later that night. Eragon knew he hadn't heard the last of it, but he also knew that they had felt the need to point out to him that there was every possibility that the rumours involving him and Arya could indeed become truth. He wasn't even sure how he felt anymore – and he wasn't even going to attempt to try and figure out the reasons why Arya acted the way she did around him. _He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword._


	2. Chapter 2

To say that Eragon was relieved when the rain finally let up was a slight understatement. He hadn't been looking forwards to the potentially strenuous task of removing rust off Saphira's armour. An hour before Nasuada was due to issue the command to advance, Eragon was waiting with Saphira by the crude gateway into the camp with all twelve of the elves that Islanzadí had sent to protect him. Around him, the elves were all busy outfitting themselves in bright coats of chain mail and round polished shields while he sat atop the breastwork as before, studying the now sodden landscape with his own armour in a heap at his feet.

The men of the Varden were all falling into formation while captains issued last minute orders that countered the ones they'd just delivered, and confused the soldiers. There was a loud clamouring as wives and daughters and younger sons were removed from the fray in varying stages of tears while the men tried their best to remain strong. _If you sit there any longer you'll start sprouting roots like the trees of Du Weldenvarden. Come and put this armour on me._

Eragon slid down from his perch and trudged over to the bags that contained the dragon armour that the dwarves had given to Saphira so long ago before the battle of Farthen Dûr. Four of the elves edged forwards, offering their assistance and Eragon nodded grateful; it took a long time and a lot of effort to clad Saphira in all the metal plates that protected her from harm. He was just about to fasten one of the many pieces to her back when Arya tried to inform him he was putting it on the wrong place.

"When did you get here?" he demanded, for she had just seemingly appeared at his shoulder as if from mid-air. Arya smirked and ignored his question as she discarded her own shield and her bow on the floor beside his abandoned armour.

"You've got the wrong part," she said, offering him a different bit of the armour.

"No I haven't!" he argued, aware that the other elves had paused to watch them and even Saphira had turned her head to glance over her shoulder and watch. "I've done this countless times before; I think I know which parts go where."

Arya spread her hands wide, "Well this part looks as if it's meant to fit that bit better!" she explained, "can't you at least see if it does?"

"No."

"Why? Because you're afraid I might be right?"

"Because I've always put _this_ piece here every time before!" Eragon snapped, indicating the piece of armour he was in the process of buckling in place.

Wyrden cleared his throat then, "Arya Dröttningu," he began, "Eragon Shadeslayer _has_ done this many times before – and you haven't, as far as I am aware, ever helped him."

"Thank you!" Eragon called out to the elf, who smiled slightly and nodded as he picked up one of the countless pieces intended to protect Saphira's tail and went to buckle that in place.

"Well clearly you've been doing it wrong all along then." Arya shrugged, still holding the piece she thought should go where Eragon had just finished buckling a part in place.

Eragon jumped to the ground from Saphira's back and stepped up in front of Arya, "Clearly I haven't because Saphira's been able to move around just fine in it."

_Leave me out of this,_ Saphira grumbled. _I want the middle ground when you fall out with each other in a minute or two._ Blödhgarm's elves all tittered with mirth, around them the birds began to sing, and Eragon narrowed his eyes while Arya raised an eyebrow. Why should he remove the piece of armour he'd just finished putting in place just to prove to her that he was right?

Their debate rang on for a good ten minutes – by which time the elves had successfully clad Saphira in all but one part of her armour – and neither he nor Arya was willing to back down. Eventually their argument reached the ears of Nasuada, who came strolling towards them looking as if she were about to throttle them both.

"Does it matter?" she demanded when Saphira – the dragon hadn't trusted Eragon or Arya to present an unbiased overview on what had occurred – finished explaining.

_Not to me – but they're both stubborn as fools with egos the size of a Boer Mountain; that and it's the first time they've gone into battle side by side …_

Nasuada ran a hand over her face and turned to them both. "Just get that," she pointed at the piece of armour in Arya's hand, "in place before I have Nar Garzhvog knock your heads together … he's probably the only one strong enough to do it and I doubt I could convince Blödhgarm to since you, Arya, are his princess!"

"Shout it to the world why don't you?" she grumbled as Eragon took the last part of Saphira's armour off her. "I think there were a few rats in Urû'baen that didn't quite hear though." Despite himself, Eragon laughed as he clambered up Saphira's back and began buckling the piece into the right place.

"Is there a problem with the world knowing you're Islanzadí's daughter?" Nasuada asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Yes." Arya retorted shortly; "If the Empire knew who I was, do you honestly think Galbatorix would've been content to let me rot in Gil'ead while Durza …" she hesitated and Eragon cast a quick glance over to her concerned for she had stumbled somewhat over Durza's name as though unable to speak it aloud, "… while Durza did what he did to me?"

Nasuada sighed heavily and closed her eyes, "Forgive me, no … well I suppose there's no helping it now is there? No doubt your mother isn't keeping it quite though – not when you've just killed a Shade and whatnot."

"That's neither here nor there."

Eragon sat back, triumphant, as he finished putting the piece in place. He was just about to jump down and point out to Arya just who it was who'd been right when he frowned, glancing at the way the two pieces – the two pieces they'd been arguing over – sat on Saphira's back and against each other. He swore loudly, which instantly caught Arya's attention, before proceeding to unbuckle them both.

_She was right wasn't she?_ Saphira sounded suspiciously smug about that fact so Eragon elected to ignore her while he switched the two offending parts of armour round._ Well at least we know for next time,_ she said philosophically. Eragon slid to the ground in silence, doing his best to ignore the smug smirk on Arya's face.

"I won't tell you I told you so …" she began.

"Shut up."

"… But in all fairness, _I _did try to tell you –"

"What part of shut up don't you understand?"

"But I _did_ tell you that you were doing it wrong," she protested. The effect was ruined somewhat by the grin on her face and Eragon shook his head and let it go, knowing that if he didn't then she wouldn't.

"Well, now that's settled," Nasuada began, but her attention and presence was called away by Orrin and she left without completing her sentence.

Eragon stared down at the pile of armour at his feet, mentally weighing it all and groaning at the mass of it all. A hand on his shoulder made him look up and he found Arya standing in front of him, all teasing gone from her eyes. They were hidden from view by Saphira's vast bulk and so were allowed some degree of privacy from the elves and the rest of the Varden's army.

"You'll be careful won't you?"

Eragon blinked, "A moment a go you were gloating about the fact that you were right and I was wrong. Has the novelty already worn off?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You know what I'm asking Eragon."

He met her gaze before shrugging his shoulders. "Enlighten me." _He who lives by a sword, dies by a sword._ Arya's answer was interrupted by a commotion by the gateway. They both turned in the direction of the disturbance in time to see a small scuffle breaking out between two spear wielding men in the very front line.

Shaking her head as Eragon dodged past her, Arya muttered something about how such amateur behaviour would never occur among her own people. Even as he watched, Roran and another of captain waded through the masses and wrenched the culprits apart. His cousin then started yelling at them to hold their nerve and that if they couldn't refrain from fighting one another then they might as well surrender to the Empire there and then. Eragon was mildly impressed at the way Roran handled the situation, and judging by the looks on the elves' faces, so were they.

After shame-facing the two men, Roran looked up over the crowd to see Eragon and the elves watching him. He nodded his head once in his cousin's direction and Eragon raised a hand before turning his attention back to the pile of armour at his feet. _Is there any point?_ He wondered half-heartedly, _all I'm doing is prolonging the inevitable._

Saphira let out a growl of frustration, which startled the elves and the caused the ranks of men nearest to edge away. _There is a point to everything we do Eragon! Do you want to die? Is that it? Is your life really that bad that death is the only possibility for you?_

He glanced up at Saphira and laid one hand on her neck, feeling her body vibrating beneath his touch as her frustration and anger burned through her. _No Saphira … I just find it hard to look to a future beyond this war. I do not begrudge the fact that it may be my life that has to be sacrificed; Galbatorix must be over thrown. But even if we survive the war my demise at another's hand is inevitable. Not even Oromis could escape fate and died with his sword in his hand._

_As a Rider should._

_Perhaps._ Eragon agreed quietly, returning his senses to reality as Saphira lifted her head over the top of the fortifications to regard Belatona. Nudging the pile with his foot, Eragon looked up to find Arya already watching him. It seemed that she was always watching him; no matter what was going on around them, Arya appeared to find more interest in watching him and his reaction to events than the events themselves. "What?" he asked.

She stirred slightly and blinked before turning her gaze upon the army waiting restlessly behind the gate. "You can't let that phrase dictate your life Eragon."

"What makes you think I am?"

"You've yet to put your armour on."

Arya glanced towards him and met his gaze with her own for a long moment. How she'd managed to see through to the heart of the problem amazed him somewhat, and he almost asked her how she did it although he figured that now wasn't the right time. "What makes me so special?" he asked her quietly so only she and Saphira would hear – Blödhgarm's elves were all busy checking over their own weapons and had withdrawn slightly to give Eragon and Arya some degree of privacy. "Why do I deserve to continue to live with a sword in my hand while Oromis and Brom died with one in theirs? What right do I have to attempt what they could not?"

There was something akin to pain in Arya's eyes when he finished and she reached out – despite, or perhaps in spite, of their audience – and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Everything they have ever taught you, they taught to you so that you could do what no one else could. You still live because they gave their lives to ensure it; it was their choice – their sacrifice – to make … and they must've thought you were worth it."

"Am I?" he asked in a whisper.

The look in Arya's eyes was all the answer he needed; "Why wouldn't you be?" she asked with a slight frown, "You're Brom's son and Oromis's heir … why wouldn't you be worth them sacrificing their lives for yours so that you can bring an end to this darkness."

Eragon looked down at the ground and sighed heavily as he unbuckled his belt and let Brisingr drop to the ground with the rest of his armour. "There are times when I don't think it – when I think they put their faith into the wrong person … how can _I_ do what Vrael and your father couldn't?"

Arya touched his face with gentle fingers, startling him enough to look back up at her. "You won't hesitate," she whispered. "When it comes to that final blow – you won't hesitate … whereas Vrael and my father did."

_They only hesitated because they believed they could help him_, Saphira pointed out in a gentle voice._ It was not down to any weakness on your father's part, Arya._

"She's right," Eragon told her just as gently for he had seen the way she had looked somewhat ashamed over the fact that her father had allowed his sense of compassion overwhelm him enough to cause him to hesitate – just as Vrael had done. "It was not due to him being too weak."

A smile flickered across her lips in gratitude. "Promise me something," she said then, staring up at him with a look he'd never seen in her before. If the rumourmongers caught that look then they'd be giddy for a week with embellished gossip. "Eragon, promise me something."

"Anything," he was aware of the fact that her hand had dropped from his cheek to his collar bone and that his mouth had gone suddenly very dry and that Blödhgarm and Wyrden and Roran were studying them with interest and that he had a hand placed between her shoulder blades.

"Don't hesitate." She held his gaze with her own and while she was looking at him the way she was, he didn't care who was watching and what they might be saying.

"Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal," he swore softly to her in the ancient language, "I swear I will not hesitate when it comes to killing Galbatorix." They lingered as they were, uncertain and insecure and with a sense of it wouldn't take much for them to take that one step forwards into the unknown. As he looked at her, he saw the same understanding in her eyes and the same hesitation. Hesitation because … because … because … _because?_

Blödhgarm cleared his throat loudly and the moment passed as swiftly as it had occurred; they both took a step back and by an unspoken consent agreed not to talk about what just happened or didn't happen. _You see now why Wyrden and Blödhgarm are so concerned, don't you. You can't promise the rumours won't come true when you don't even know how you feel about her – and she's doing nothing to help the situation._

_She doesn't know the situation._

_Arya knows her own heart Eragon,_ Saphira snorted.

_It's one thing to know your heart, another thing entirely to listen and act upon it._ Eragon countered as he scratched the underside of Saphira's jaw. _Besides I don't want things to change … and I don't want to lose her._

Saphira was quiet for a moment or two and Eragon could hear the elves tittering away behind him as they laughed at some joke incomprehensible to anyone that hadn't set foot in Ellesméra. _If there was ever anyone I'd be content to share you with … it'd be her._

_She's the only one you'd ever be content in letting me be with in the first place._ Eragon teased, _and even then that's only because she loves you as much as she does._

_So she should._ Eragon couldn't help laugh out loud at her words. _But then I love her too in a way; no one should have to endure what she did … and I fear she may have to endure it again if we aren't careful._

Eragon pulled away from that thought and returned his attention to his surroundings as a stifled groan and annoyed mutterings rumbled through the army. "What's the matter?" he asked and the female elf Blödhgarm sent to fetch Arya the night before answered.

"Lady Nasuada has postponed the advance for another hour, Shadeslayer."

"Why?"

"To give it more time to darken," she answered before throwing the silver-haired male at her side a quick teasing insult. "Anyone would think you were unsure how to use your sword – all that experience you boast about been for naught has it?"

He bristled, and responded in kind which caused the rest of the elves to laugh while the two continued their mockery of one another. Eragon watched, entranced as more and more of the elves joined in the playful banter that served to relieve tension and anxiety before a battle. He'd never seen such comradeship and companionship so openly displayed among a band of warriors before now; these elves had clearly fought together many times before and would continue to do so until they were all but gone.

It was usual for such antics to transpire in such situations; they trusted each other with their lives and so trusted each other enough to be able to delve into personal aspects of their comrade's life at will and leisure because of that unspoken code of silence that prevailed in all situations. A group such as the one sent to protect Eragon and Saphira from harm were forced upon each other for every waking moment of every day for long stretches of time without contact from anyone else of their race. They had no choice _but_ to get along and make their circumstance work for the best way possible for all those involved.

Saphira too seemed to enjoy the obvious familiarity the elves had with one another, a familiarity that was evident in the way they mouthed out the gentle slights and light mockery as if they'd been doing so for centuries past. Upon the odd face Eragon detected the faint flush of embarrassment, however he suspected that every one of those elves had been the butt of some form of joke or trick in the past that the novelty had long worn off. In essence, however, the purpose of such activities served to distract the mind from the waiting and the morbid thoughts of what was about to transpire.

One of the elves threw a gentle, if slightly uncertain, bantering line towards Arya and the rest of his brethren sucked in sharp breaths and fell silent. She regarded the elf for a long moment before responding in kind and endeavouring to embarrass him further when she added; "At least I know that challenging a dragon to a duel is likely to end up with the dragon swatting me off the nearest cliff!"

The elf went a rather brilliant shade of red in his embarrassment as Blödhgarm's elves howled with laughter and Arya smirked. His curiosity sparked, Eragon edged over to join them, "What madness possessed you to challenge a dragon?" he asked, standing at Arya's side with his arms crossed over his chest while the twelve elves sat in and around an abandoned cart that had a broken wheel. "Did you expect it to draw a sword and face you like a man?"

"It was a hatchling, if I can recall the tale correctly," Arya informed him. "But you'd have to ask Wyrden or my mother; they were actually there – along with Oromis of course."

Eragon turned to Wyrden expectantly. He was chortling and the story was quickly told – ending in much laughter and causing the affronted elf to lash out with light remarks of his own. Eragon quickly learnt several more embarrassing tales about his guards while the soldiers around them continued with their own comradely banter. The elves seem to delight in spilling their companion's secrets to Eragon and Arya, it was clear they hadn't had to include anyone new into their band for a very long time and so they were embracing the freshness that the fighting alongside Eragon and Saphira bought. Arya appeared to relish the fact that she had several of her kin around her in the Varden for she had wasted little time in befriending them accordingly.

Then Saphira had to get involved, and her target was Eragon, whom she embarrassed rather easily with one or two mishaps from his journey with Brom; namely the time he broke his wrist and unintentionally insulted the king. Eragon swatted her on the leg, forgetting she was encased in armour, and bruised his wrist in the process. The thirteen elves laughed accordingly and he found himself smiling. The almost over causal way in which they were embarrassing each other was due to the mounting nerves that seemed to be building at a tremendous rate; the only way they could keep all that tension at bay was to, temporarily, ignore it.

Wyrden recounted a tale or two from Arya's childhood that caused grins and mirth to break forth – Eragon and Saphira were in no way surprised at all the grief and mayhem that Arya caused her mother, Oromis, Brom, and her other caretakers. Apparently she'd been prone to wondering off on her own accord and getting into all kinds of mischief. "I was a curious child," she attempted to explain away her deeds. "And there was never anything overly interesting for me to do with whomever my mother put in charge of me for the day."

"Which – I'm assuming – is why she relented and let Oromis tutor you?"

"It kept me out of trouble."

"Or just cemented the fact that you walk through the difficult path in life," Wyrden countered before frowning slightly, "I think we can blame Brom for that aspect of your personality, Dröttningu; he and his son are after all, walking calamities."

Again laughter and Eragon shook his head, a smile on his face as he was so casually and easily referred to as Brom's son. "But they do it so well Wyrden," Arya pointed out, "the living disaster and habitual need to crawl through the thorn patch backwards …"

"As oppose to sending the dragon egg into the middle of nowhere where anyone could happen across it?"

She shrugged, "Well anyone turned out to be you didn't it? So all worked out for the best." Arya frowned slightly, "In all fairness, Brom should've told us he had a son; Oromis probably realised long ago that Saphira's egg was highly likely to hatch for Brom's child."

"So you think Oromis betrayed you to the Shade so that you'd send the egg to Brom and it'd end up in my hands?" Eragon questioned teasingly. "In all actuality it –"

"Shut up Eragon," Arya told him without even sparing him half a glance. He chuckled and looked up to see his cousin and Angela walking towards them through the crowd behind the gate. "Before I make you."

"Make me?" he queried. "And how, exactly, do you propose to do that Dröttningu?"

"Don't call me that."

"Why?"

"Because."

Eragon felt a sudden need to be childish as he responded with; "Because what?"

Arya closed her eyes and took a deep breath; "Just _don't_."

"What would you rather I called you then Dröttningu?"

"I'd rather you used my name."

"Alright Islanzadísdaughter." Eragon paused, "that really is a mouthful; I'm not calling you that all the damn time."

"Not _that_ name!"

"But I don't know your Name."

Arya turned her gaze to him then, the rest of the elves all watching with differing degrees of amusement. "Is this some messed up Rider thing?" she asked, "Your habitual need to constantly piss me off?"

_He thinks he's funny_, Saphira explained.

Arya turned away, shaking her head as Angela and Roran joined them. Eragon watched as his cousin glanced at Arya before turning to him. "What've you done now?" he demanded.

Eragon spluttered. "Who says I've done anything?" The transfer into the human language transpired without a hiccup. The elves tittered and Arya rolled her eyes, and although he could tell she was still slightly annoyed with his childish antics, she wasn't nearly as pissed off as she was making out to be.

"What's he done?" Roran asked Arya then.

She turned her gaze upon him and Eragon watched his cousin hold that stare. "Does he need to have done something?" she replied. "Your cousin has the ability to annoy anyone and everyone without having to doing anything. No doubt it's another unseemly trait inherited from that no-good father of his."

Eragon shook his head as Roran frowned.

"I _did_ try to tell you that there are a number of qualities that are inherently inborn in all males; and that, try as we might, we can't deny them –" Arya gave him that same daring look to continue as she had earlier. Eragon decided, however, that this time he did dare, "– or else we deny ourselves and, actually, if you ask any man – be he dwarf, elf, human or Urgal – he'd agree that –"

"I'd … um – I'd stop there if I were you," Roran advised, interrupting him just as he was about to launch into the full swing of his explanation.

"Aye, Rider," Wyrden called from his perch on the broken cart, "the women-folk don't seem to be able to process an understanding as to why or have an ability to listen to our carefully constructed explanations." A number of the other male elves all nodded in agreement.

"She's a woman; she won't listen." Roran told him; he turned back to Arya to find she was staring at him with a raised eyebrow as she had been at Eragon earlier that day. Roran flashed her what he thought was a dazzling smile before edging away from her and making sure Eragon was placed between them both. Eragon resisted the urge to laugh.

Angela turned to Arya then, although she had one eye fixed upon the sniggering male aspects of Eragon and Saphira's guard. "Are you planning to charge them all with treason?" she asked hopefully. "I mean _technically_ they were speaking out against us women and your mother does rule does she not and _technically_ you could argue that they were speaking out against her ability to govern your people effectively."

Arya pretended to ponder it – or at least Eragon hoped she pretended – while Blödhgarm and Wyrden and the other four males paled and began yammering on about how their comments weren't intended thus. She couldn't hide the grin on her face as she looked at them though and burst out laughing. The six females also laughed and after a few moments of looking sheepish, so did the rest of Blödhgarm's elves.

"As much as I am no doubt sure Arya Dröttningu wanted an excuse – she hasn't the power or authority to charge anyone with anything without the support of two other houses." Eragon pointed out to them.

Arya turned to him and cocked her head to the side, "How do you know that … no wait; let me guess. Oromis?"

He nodded and she rolled her eyes.

"It's a stupid law …" she muttered, half to herself.

_But necessary_, Saphira countered.

"Perhaps," Arya agreed. Roran looked utterly confused. Arya rolled her eyes; "Wyrden, explain," she commanded.

He inclined his head. "In our culture, an accusation of treason usually leads to civil unrest and in extreme cases – to war. Generally the cry of treason is uttered with no actual truth to the accusation and often used as an excuse for a ruler to … dispose … of his or her political enemies. Unfortunately in our past this frequently led to a falling out between the monarch and the opposition and thus resulted in a civil war."

Wyrden paused and shifted to a more comfortable position. "After winning the war that resulted after Queen Dellanir abdicated over the whole argument with Anurin – Vrael's predecessor – about the Riders being independent from any government, Evander became king. He passed a law that stated only if three or more representatives of differing family houses in power accuse the same individual of treason, can the allegation be then taken to court and the individual tried accordingly."

"And since there are only ever four family houses in power at any one time, and since they never agree upon where to host the summer solstice, any chance of a false accusation being made simply to provoke the opposing side to war is slim to none." Blödhgarm finished.

Roran nodded slowly, "Sounds … complicated …" he admitted.

"That's one word for it," Arya muttered dryly.

Angela had been busy assembling her hûthvir while Wyrden had spoken; she stood with the weapon in her hand and twirled it experimentally – Eragon, Arya and Roran quickly took about three steps back to avoid the blades on either end of the staff. The herbalist turned and fixed her gaze upon Arya then; "You may think that law is stupid," she began, "but Saphira is right in saying it is necessary."

"What would you know about it?"

Angela ignored the question. "You know of the clan wars between dwarves, yes?" Slowly, as if reluctant to be subjected to a lecture from the witch, Arya nodded once. "In a clan war you can rely upon your clan to protect you and to support you and basically you can be certain of allies. In a civil war you don't have that. A civil war depicts brother against sister, father against son, friend against friend and so forth. A mother would as easily betray her daughter as she would her neighbour; no war is bloodier than a civil war. _That's_ what your father was guarding against when he passed that law."

Eragon looked at Angela in surprise, as did the others, but it was Arya who actually asked the question hovering upon their lips. "Who are you?"

The herbalist grinned. "Now where would the fun be in telling you?"

"Have you finished with the history lesson?" Arya asked instead.

_Have you finished sulking about some petty law you don't agree with?_ Solembum asked pacing towards her. Arya ignored him and stalked away towards the breastwork, staring out over the low wall as the night darkened.

_I wonder who it was she accused,_ Saphira murmured.

_What?_

_Arya. I wonder who it was she accused of treason – and why. Clearly no one believed her otherwise she wouldn't be kicking up a big deal over this._

Eragon pondered the thought, his gaze lingering upon the elf for perhaps a moment more than necessary before he returned his attention to the conversation around him. Wyrden met his gaze and Eragon knew that the elf knew exactly who and what and why and when; he also knew that there was no way Wyrden was going to tell him.

"This Evander – the king you mentioned," Roran was saying, "He's Arya's father?"

Eragon stifled a groan. "Was," he corrected. His cousin shot him a glance, "he died on the plains of Ilirea at Galbatorix's hand a year or two after the Fall." Eragon explained. "My father was there when it happened …" he trailed off; he hadn't really spoken to Roran about Brom being his father for some reason.

"And the queen – Islanzadí – she's Arya's mother?"

_Quit stating the obvious._ Solembum told him with a flick of his tail as he curled up in the lap of a female elf with silver hair like starlight.

Roran glanced at the werecat and blinked before glancing at his cousin. "He has a point," Eragon told him. Before Roran could reply, his assistance was called over by Jörmundur and he excused himself for a few moments. "Idiot," Eragon muttered under his breath.

"No doubt he thinks the same of you," Arya said brightly. He glanced at her, a question in his eyes for a reason behind her dislike for the law her father had passed. She met his gaze. "Don't ask me that question Eragon," she said softly. "Please. Don't ask me why."

"Why not?"

She sighed and looked down at the ground for a moment as Roran returned, then she looked back up at Eragon and said in a soft voice, "Because if I talk about it, I have to remember." Whatever it was, she wasn't going to tell him until she was ready; that much he knew about her and he wasn't fool enough anymore to push her for an answer he probably wouldn't like. Whether she was protecting him or herself didn't matter because Eragon knew she was protecting _someone_ in refusing to explain to him why it was she disagreed with Evander's law.

A call rang forth then and the army massed behind the gate stirred in anticipation. Jörmundur had just relayed Nasuada's command that they would begin the assault in half an hour and that they should all finish pleading for luck and glory to their gods. "I swear the influence of gods is a dwarven entity – why your people took to the idea of muttering into the air for help I'll never know …" Arya muttered to Eragon then.

He raised an eyebrow, "You're not about to start an argument with the nearest dwarf are you?" he grinned. "I think Gannel has nightmares whenever he hears you'll be passing through Tarnag."

"My views are perfectly valid."

_And offensive … which is why you state them._

Arya glanced at the dragon. "Elves and dwarves aren't meant to get along," she said by way of explanation.

"That and you just like proving everyone wrong." Wyrden grinned.

Arya shot him a look and he dutifully dropped his head though his grin only got wider. Roran just stood there frowning at the antics going on between them and he didn't seem to realise that he'd turned to Angela for an explanation. The witch sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

"They're scared," she explained. "So to hide from that fear they're ignoring it and focusing in on teasing each other so as to relieve the tension and anticipation that waiting upon the edge of battle brings. Everyone does it – elves are just more open about it."

Roran looked at her, "You know that makes no sense whatsoever right?"

Angela laughed and patted his cheek before turning on her heel and wondering off into the crowd behind the gate. Roran stared after her in confusion for a few moments until his attention was snatched away by someone calling his name. Eragon stood in his cousin's line of sight, purposefully pulling faces and being childishly juvenile as his cousin said farewell to his wife.

"She'll slap you if you're not careful," Arya warned him as Roran and Katrina spoke in low voices, their heads close together. "You're intruding upon her private moment with him."

Eragon snorted. "She's had plenty of 'private moments' with him – how else do you think she came to be in her condition? Or do elves go about that sort of thing in a different way? If so then you're missing out."

Arya hit him on the shoulder.

Blödhgarm and his elves on the cart were all sniggering at the exchange. It seemed watching Eragon and Arya interact with one another was far more entertaining than teasing each other for they could clearly see what the Rider and the Princess obviously couldn't. Wyrden murmured low in Blödhgarm's ear and they both smirked before shaking hands and turning back to the spectacle before them.

"Eragon."

"Yes?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?"

He shrugged. "You can tell me as often as you want but I doubt I'll listen."

"I thought as much." She said dryly.

He grinned and glanced over towards his cousin to see Roran already looking at him. He jerked his head and Eragon got the hint; he strode over to where they stood wondering whether or not Arya was right and that Katrina wanted to slap him for taking the sincerity out of her goodbye and good luck to her husband. But he was surprised when Katrina instead hugged him best she could with her expanding waistline and kissed his cheek. "Be careful," she said, "I don't want Roran to come back telling me you stupidly went and got yourself killed."

Eragon shrugged, "I'll do my best …" he glanced over his shoulder at the elves lingering on and around the broken wagon and Saphira. "Besides – I've got the very best of the elven race to watch my back … it's Roran you need to worry about not me."

Katrina looked up at him shrewdly. "But if I don't worry about you, then who will?" That threw him slightly and he stood there frowning as Roran – slightly embarrassed – ushered his wife away from the massed army and back towards their tent.

_Is she right?_ Eragon wondered to Saphira.

_We are firstly a weapon to Nasuada, Orik, Orrin and Islanzadí, you know that little one._

_But it be nice to know that they would care if we were to perish._

_I think they would – but circumstances might not let them …_

_He who lives by a sword, dies by a sword._

_Arya would care,_ Saphira said quietly but Eragon shook his head.

_If given the choice, Arya would rather fight and die beside us than live while we didn't._

Eragon turned on his heel and paced towards his pile of armour and his sword. He really ought to get ready or the army would advance forcing him into the fray unarmed and unprotected. Eragon dejectedly picked up his mail shirt and ran the metal links through his fingers before letting it fall back to the floor in a heap. Looking up he spotted Nasuada stalking his way through the assembled men, offering out words of comfort and courage as she went and he knew that the time had come to march upon Belatona.

He stooped and pulled on his thick shirt he wore under his armour before strapping his greaves and bracers to his forearms and shins. He then yanked on the mail shirt and grunted as the weight settled upon his shoulders and he shrugged them a few times to shift the mail links to a slightly more comfortable position. Eragon wrapped the belt of Beloth the Wise around his waist and settled Brisingr in place on his left hip before pulling on the mail link hood and his helmet. He stooped one more time to pick up his shield and turned to Saphira.

_Hmm … you don't seem to own that armour like the elves own theirs … it's missing something._

_Missing something? What's that supposed to mean?_

_I mean you don't look all that impressive._

_Thanks._ He said dryly turning away.

Arya was already looking at him. From her expression he could tell she agreed with Saphira's comments and he shook his head and stalked over to the breastwork and stared out over the no-mans-land between the camp and Belatona.

"You're wearing the wrong armour, that's all." Arya said gently as she came to stand beside him. "Dwarven made armour is never that impressive … you need the workmanship of my people to do you justice."

He snorted. "What does it matter? So long as it does the job and keeps me alive. Does it really matter how 'impressive' I look to my enemies?"

"It's about appearances," she explained. "More how you look in the eyes of your own people than your enemies. They have to believe and _see_ that you deserve their loyalty and their lives."

Eragon turned to Arya, "And what about you? You hardly outfit yourself in attire suitable for the queen's daughter."

She frowned and looked down at the wall they were leaning against. "No doubt my mother will see to that when we join up with her army … she'll probably see that _both_ of us are dressed according to who and what we are. Like it or not appearances do matter and count." Arya touched his arm and smiled at him, almost shyly, "This is my first war too, Eragon," she whispered. "And since my mother and I reconciled … it's almost like I've been learning how to be a dröttningu all over again."

"So you're saying we're doing this together?" he asked.

Arya thought about it for a moment, "I suppose I am aren't I?"

They stood together for a long moment as the gates creaked open and the Varden's soldiers filled out and onto the expanse before the city, all jostling into formation ready to march behind Eragon and Saphira and the thirteen elves.

_It's time,_ Saphira whispered to both of them.

Eragon turned to Arya, "If I watch your back," he began, "will you watch mine?"

"I shall watch yours," she promised in the ancient language before tilting her head slightly, "But that means you'll have to stop annoying me all the while or I may be tempted to let an arrow or two slip by."

He shrugged, "I can try."

She shook her head but smiled. Behind them Blödhgarm and his elves were jumping off the cart and making their way out of the gate after Saphira. Eragon and Arya remained with Nasuada, who turned to them both with a hard look upon her features.

"Don't die – either of you. We need you both if we are to succeed in our cause."

"I've been close to death a few times," Arya said softly. "It's not an experience I care to endure again." Eragon just turned on his heel and walked through the gate, gazing up at the stars above him as he went.

_He who lives by a sword, dies by a sword._


End file.
